


Songs About Knives

by xogazi



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Bloodplay, Fake AH Crew, Kink: Radiohead, Knifeplay, M/M, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 10:07:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5535902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xogazi/pseuds/xogazi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the giddy rush of adrenaline that follows a heist, there are a few places the crew members always end up.</p><p>Except, Ray's been noticing these past few times, for Ryan; the thing about Ryan, Ray's also noticed, is that you never noticed when he was there but it was always easy to notice when he wasn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Songs About Knives

In the giddy rush of adrenaline that follows a heist, there are a few places the crew members always end up:

a) the vicinity of the fridge (Gavin and Ray) 

b) the mini bar (Geoff, occasionally Michael,) or, 

c) the living room couch (everyone else.) 

Except, Ray's been noticing these past few times, for Ryan; the thing about Ryan, Ray's also noticed, is that you never noticed when he was there but it was always easy to notice when he wasn't.

“Has anyone seen Ryan?” he asked the air over the kitchen counter, and Gavin–currently gagging on what was, honestly, a cold cut monstrosity of a post-heist sandwich–merely grunted in response. 

“Gavin,” Ray prompted, to the sound of chewing interspersed with gagging. “Gavin!" 

"Hmm?” Gavin looked up, mouth stuffed full of–was that corned beef and ketchup? Really, dude, what the fuck–and swallowed, “Ryan? he’s on the back steps, same as usual.”

Ray paused. “The back–what the fuck do you mean ‘he’s on the back steps?’" 

"I mean Ryan’s on the back porch like always, you knob,” said Gavin, scowling over half a double-decker corned beef sandwich as a glob of ketchup dribbled down his wrist. Ray blinked, opened his mouth, thought better of it, and got up to check the back porch. The second the back door slid open, Ray heard humming from the far side of the patio, sounds similar to what drifted out of los santos customs on a good day.

“Ryan?” he mumbled, not putting much heart into it. On one hand, whatever Ryan was doing sounded at least somewhat private, and Ray didn’t have enough of a death wish at the moment to try interrupting. On the other, anything that could make Ryan fucking Haywood, the mad king of los santos himself, sound so goddamn cheerful and content had to be worth seeing at least once before Ray died.

He stepped out of the doorway, and soon saw familiar bloodstained shoulders, facing towards the house’s regal view of the city. A pile of well-loved butterfly and bowie knives were laid out carefully over Ryan’s black biker jacket. they were accompanied by daggers, folding combat knives of every variety, the odd roasting fork and a single, polished vegetable peeler that Ray didn’t want to even begin thinking about. Ryan was perched the edge of the patio among his unorthodox trophy case, humming away, caressing a stainless steel throwing knife with all the care of a middle school english teacher in the fucking library of congress. 

Ray’s eyes shamelessly tracked Ryan’s fingers down the knife’s edge, soaking in the minuscule drop of blood that welled up in his thumb. The rest of Ray’s body had long ago made peace with his incredibly weird Ryan Boner, specifically his Ryan Handling Ryan’s Weapons Boner. Too many heists had ended with Ryan wiping a blade off on his forearm and Ray watching a little too intently, savoring the image of Ray’s chest under Ryan’s knife, or on some days the reverse.

Ray couldn’t help it; seeing the infamous Mad King, usually seen only in the mess of bodies he leaves behind, so rawly, intimately focused, his entire being stripped away to a the movement of his hands over a few inches of steel? Pretty boner-inducing, one had to admit. There had been too many nights when Ray had jerked off with nothing but Ryan’s hands in mind, and the clever way they could charm any weapon or person into seeing things his way. 

Ryan’s humming crescendoed as he finished cleaning a knife with a satisfied flourish, reaching over to pick up the next. Ray could totally do it: right now, he could stroll over there, say something like “Hey there Ryan, uh, so you that connection that we’ve had goin’ on for a while now? R 'n’ R for lyfe, man, you know? Well, recently i was wondering if that connection could be better based primarily around my hand on your dick. There could also be some slicing up of my bodacious bod on your part, though seriously that’s your call.” Ray could do that.

“Look into my eyes,” Ryan sang quietly into his hands, still rubbing at some blade or another. “I’m not comin’ back…” He trailed off into incoherent humming again, his smile uncharacteristically warm, eyes unusually bright. Ray kept his eyes locked on the sight for as long as they’d stay open, inhaling the crisp mountain air so far above the thriving smoggy cityscape he itched for, especially at times like this--then he turned on his heel and slipped back into the house, sliding the door closed behind him without a sound.

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first fic ever! originally posted here: http://ryanthepowerbottomguy.tumblr.com/post/125339138918/1-in-the-giddy-rush-of-adrenaline-that-follows  
> the song ryan is singing is knives out by radiohead.


End file.
